the poem her belly marched through me as
one army.   From her nostrils to her feet
 
she smelled of silence.   The inspired cleat
 
of her glad leg pulled into a sole mass
my separate lusts
                            her hair was like a gas
evil to feel.   Unwieldy….
 
                                        the bloodbeat
in her fierce laziness tried to repeat
a trick of syncopation Europe has
 
—. One day i felt a mountain touch me where
I stood (maybe nine miles off).   It was spring
 
sun-stirring.   sweetly to the mangling air
muchness of buds mattered.   a valley spilled
its tickling river in my eyes,
                                              the killed
 
world wriggled like a twitched string.

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